Daryl Gets a Dog
by The Blackest Crow
Summary: When Norman Reedus asked for his character to get a dog, he was denied. I'm here to fulfill his wishes... Daryl finds himself with a dog and we explore how their relationship would be like in the apocalypse. (No spoilers, rated T for zombie-killing)


**Summary: (One-shot) Set in season 4 on the prison, Daryl finds himself with a dog and we explore what their relationship would be like, and what some of the group makes of it.  
No spoilers to be worried about.  
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor claim to own any of the characters portrayed in this story.**

 **Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

The walker crawled towards the two people, contorting its body and using its partially eaten arms to advance. From over what was left of its torso, guts trailed behind like cans in a newlywed's car.

When it was finally near the living, that precious flesh that _it_ used to be like, its growls became louder with the promise of food. But then an arrow swiftly thrust through its skull and ended everything it was.

"Took you long enough," Michonne commented.

"I was just thinkin'," Daryl replied.

"You? Thinking? That's a new one," she mocked, smiling. She seemed to be in a particularly good mood.

He rolled his eyes at her and they both kept walking, focusing on finding any store that appeared at least slightly functional. They were on a run, after all.

"You seem all chirpy," he noted. That fixed smile was rare for her.

"Maybe," was her cryptic reply.

Daryl glanced at her quizzically but said nothing.

Eventually they found a pet shop, which was hardly ideal but there was a vet clinic on the back, meaning possible medicine.

Michonne walked through the dusty floors and blood-stained empty cages until she reached what seemed to be the operation room. A big metallic table was on the middle, and some useless machines gathered dust on the corners. Behind the table, there was a big wooden shelf which she assumed had what they were looking for.

The moment she reached for the shelf's door and opened it a walker in a lab coat jumped out of it... But didn't get far. A belt tied around its neck stopped it, and swung it back with a bump.

She quickly drew her katana and with ease cut through the rotten head. Grey matter and black blood splattered all over the blade; and she sighed wondering why couldn't people commit suicide simply with a shot to the head.

After she finished emptying out the shelf she went back to the tracker, who was filling a backpack with some antibiotics.

"You might wanna take some dog food too," she told him.

"Didn't know we were _that_ desperate."

Michonne grinned again, her pure white teeth nicely contrasting with her dark skin.

"Just take it, alright?"

"Whatever," he responded, grabbing two abandoned cans and placing them with the rest of the medicine. He had no idea what the woman was on about, it was unlike her to beat around the bush like this, but she seemed actually joyful for once and he wasn't gonna get in the way of that.

Once they got everything from the shop they returned to the car, but as soon as Daryl started opening the driver's seat he noticed something moving inside and immediately aimed his crossbow, in such a rapid way that it could have easily been an extension of his own arm. His eyes quickly started looking for the head.

However, he relaxed a bit when he noticed what really was in front of him. It wasn't a walker, but a dog. It clearly had some wolf blood in him, with traces of wilderness from his yellow eyes to his furry tail, but you could still distinguish it had some connection to German Shepherds. Now it was looking at him with a tilted head and seemingly no interest of getting up from his curled up position on the seat. His tail started wagging timidly.

"What's this?" he murmured, thrown off by the animal's presence.

"That's a dog, Daryl," Michonne replied from behind him, and proceeded to sit down on the hood with the same grin from before.

"I mean- what's it doing here?"

"He came up to me when you were taking a piss, and I figured two fleabags could get along," she explained with a shrug.

"So this is what had you so lively?" Now he was starting to understand. He gazed at the dog again, he was skinny as if he hadn't eaten in days and scars all over his face and throat claimed the things he had gone through.

"We can't take'im though. Y'know how dogs got like since everything started, all feral."

"He doesn't seem feral to me," the woman said, getting up and walking towards the passenger's seat. "But it's up to you," she added before getting in.

Daryl stared at the dog again, and a few minutes later the three of them were riding towards the prison.

* * *

When they got to the entrance Carl opened the gates and closed them as soon as possible, looking to avoid the swarming mass of dead trying to get in.

Then he hastily ran up to the car, holding the sheriff hat on his head with one hand while feeling a bit anxious. Not so much to make sure they were alright - he knew they'd be - but to see if they had got the medicine for Judith's cold. Sure, it was nothing serious, but his brother wanted her to be as comfortable as possible.

"Could you get anything?" he asked the pair as they got out of the car.

"Sorta. We found a vet but you'll have to ask Hershel what's good and what's not," Daryl explained, handing him the bag.

Carl was about to reply when a bark was heard. Surprised, he looked inside the car to see a big black dog on the back seat.

"And who's that?" he wondered with a small smile forming on his lips.

"Just a lil' survivor we came across," the man said, opening the back door. "But we don't know how wild he is yet."

Fearlessly, Carl reached for the animal to pet his head.

The dog sniffed his hand, decided the boy was alright and let himself be pet.

"Will you keep him?"

"I think so."

"Then you have to name him, " Carl stated smiling, and left him to run over to Herschel.

"Too bad Asskicker's taken," Michonne commented.

* * *

"What if it gets rabies and attacks someone?" Rick inquired.

Daryl was on the small dispensary he had made into his room - he still refused to sleep in a cage -, feeding his new companion the cans he'd taken. The animal was eating desperately, not even chewing as he gulped down all of the food.

"Then I'll put'im down," He simply stated, without taking his gaze off the dog.

The leader looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Alright, " he accepted.

"Have fun," he added with a hint of amusement as a final thought, leaving to go back to his farming.

Daryl kept staring at the animal.

He really wasn't similar to Cherokee, but still that dog of his childhood popped up on his head every time he looked at this new one.

Cherokee had been a mutt he'd found abandoned on a ditch, in one of the many escapades he took from the countryside to the outskirts of town when left alone for days.

At first she had been a great companion, a friend to help him endure the hardships of his life, but of course it couldn't have ended well.

One time Will Dixon had been mad at something the dog had made and hurt her so badly that she ran away, abandoning him. Just like Merle had.

"But no one will hurt _you_ ," he murmured under his breath, caressing the dog's furry neck. Then thought for a moment and said:

"Killer."

Killer raised his head, as if acknowledging his new name.

* * *

Several months later food started to be scarce, and Daryl and Glenn decided to venture further up East that they'd ever been in search of supplies. Eventually they got some, but on their way back night had gotten too dangerous and they decided to find shelter on one of the many abandoned houses.

Now the room was dark, the light of the new day not yet reaching the dusty windows when the barking started.

With his sleep interrupted, Glenn shifted uncomfortably in his bed, and opened his eyes slowly to see a walker crawling towards him, just inches away from his face. He yelped and backed away, putting his arms up to stop the raving dead.

But then an arrow surfaced from its forehead, so close it scratched Glenn's nose, and the corpse fell to the ground. Daryl appeared behind it.

"Good mornin'," he greeted, crouching to get the arrow from the rotten head.

The younger man took a moment to recover his breath.

"That's _one_ way to wake up," he said, adrenaline still filling his veins.

Daryl walked up to Killer, who had alerted them. The dog was on top of another walker, restraining it under the weight of his big body, and so the man proceeded to kill it as well.

"Good boy," he regarded him, patting his head.

In just a bit over a month he had trained him to bark when any walkers were around and pin them to the ground, and Killer had been an excellent learner. Ironically enough though, Daryl still hadn't been able to make the animal understand that he had to go for the head to actually kill, instead of the throat or hands like his instincts implied. Still, he had proven to be a valuable asset for the group over and over again.

"We'll go get us some squirrel for breakfast," the tracker announced.

Glenn watched him leave through the door, the crossbow on his right and at his left the huge dog faithfully following him, never leaving his side.

* * *

 **A/N: English is not my first language, so if you saw any errors or anything that sounded off, I'd be grateful if you could let me know. Thanks for reading!**


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